Heart Of A Healer
by Evening Nightshade
Summary: Seriously wounded, Aragorn's only hope of survival is the healing skills of Elrond - but the elf-lord is missing in the Misty Mountains. Arwen finds her abilities tested to the limits, whilst a sinister force threatens Imladris...


HEART OF A HEALER, BY EVENING NIGHTSHADE.  
  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: Why do I even bother with these? Anyway, I am a mere fan fiction writer who only dreams of owning LOTR. I own only the torture that Tolkien's world and characters will be put through, but I *will* try to return Middle Earth in as few pieces as possible.  
  
  
  
SUMMARY: Here's the A/A fic I promised! Seriously wounded, Aragorn's only hope of survival is the healing skills of Elrond - but the elf-lord is missing in the Misty Mountains. Arwen finds her abilities tested to the limits, whilst a sinister force threatens Imladris... (Pre-LOTR)  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: (1) I am not qualified in medicine or first aid, so whatever cures the characters may attempt in this story, they are not to be copied in any real-life emergency.  
  
  
  
(2) All Elvish and translations are from LOTR Heaven and councilofelrond.com  
  
  
  
R&R, please? Flames will be... (I actually don't know, I've run out of uses for them! Would be grateful for any witty replies - provided they're included in a flame! Or is that quite confusing?)  
  
  
  
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CHAPTER ONE: DEPARTURES  
  
  
  
"Are you sure that you have packed everything?"  
  
  
  
Elrond shook his head in disdain. "Arwen, I will only be gone for seven or eight days at most. I do not need a large majority of these items!"  
  
  
  
The elf-maiden smiled at her father. Despite being several millennia her senior, he could be so naive at times. "Ada, [Father] I have travelled to Lorien more than either you or the twins. Over the years, one begins to master the art of packing!" Turning, she pulled two more tunics out of his ornate mahogany wardrobe and folded them carefully before stuffing them into his satchel. "Besides, this council may run overly long. The One Ring is no simple debate."  
  
  
  
"I could not agree more," Elrond said, briefly glancing at Vilya on his hand, the blue stone gleaming in the sunlight. He, Galadriel and Gandalf would have much to discuss on the matter. Sighing, he sank into a chair, leaning against the ornate mahogany table. The One Ring was preying heavily on his mind, the watchful Eye Of Sauron haunting his dreams. The elf-lord allowed his eyes to fall shut with weariness.  
  
  
  
Noticing her father's obvious distress, Arwen sank to her knees beside him, taking his hand in her own. "Ada? Mani naa ta?" [What is wrong?] she asked, sapphire eyes filled with worry. "Something troubles your heart; I can feel it."  
  
  
  
"It is nothing, nin iell," [my daughter] he replied, squeezing her hand affectionately. Elrond knew that it was a lie, and so did Arwen, for the anxiousness in her expression did not lessen. However, she nodded and rose, returning to her father's wardrobe to resume packing, much to the elf-lord's chagrin.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
The small escort of Lord Elrond had already gathered in the courtyard when the elf-lord, followed by his daughter and two advisors, descended the marble steps that led from the House. During the autumn, Imladris was at the height of its beauty. The gardens were adorned with gold and various hues of orange. In the glow of the pink dusk, the marble walls of the city seemed to glimmer like the most precious jewel.   
  
  
  
"Are we ready, hir-nin?" [My Lord] Glorfindel asked, whistling to a grey stallion.   
  
  
  
"Give me a moment alone with my daughter," he replied. Nodding, Glorfindel and Erestor hurried away to check on the supplies. Elrond enfolded his arms around Arwen, dropping a kiss to her brow. "'Tis strange for you to be bidding me farewell before I leave Imladris. Normally, it is I who watches you depart for Lorien."  
  
  
  
"I know, Ada," she replied. "Therefore, it is my duty to remind you to take care of yourself."  
  
  
  
"I will, nin iell. And I trust you to take care of the city while I am gone."  
  
  
  
She nodded, filled with an immense rush of pride. Normally, whenever her father's presence was required elsewhere, it was Elladan and Elrohir who were given charge of Imladris. However, this time, Elrond had bestowed that duty upon his daughter, and although Arwen was unsure whether it was because of her own merits that she had been given this task, or the fact that the twins were on an orc hunt with the Rangers of the North. Still, it mattered not.  
  
  
  
After a final embrace, father and daughter parted. Elrond offered Arwen a bittersweet smile, before he turned and crossed the courtyard littered with golden leaves. A stable-hand helped him mount his charcoal coloured stallion. Atop his horse, dressed in his dark riding garb, his sword swinging easily be his side, the Lord of Imladris truly did look like a powerful leader, marching with his troops into battle. Arwen could only hope that her Estel was just as dignified when his time came to do the same.  
  
  
  
Joining the crowd of elves who had come to bid their lord farewell, she smiled at their love for her father. His people could only look upon Elrond with the utmost respect and gratitude. During the Second Age, he had created this haven deep in the Misty Mountains to protect the elves from Sauron's power. Many of Imladris' elder inhabitants had lived within the city since its founding nigh on five millennia ago. Their Lord had protected them since then, and would continue to do so until the time came for them to leave Middle Earth, which would be in the very near future.  
  
  
  
"I leave the care of not only Imladris, but its people, in the capable hands of my daughter, Lady Arwen Undomiel," Elrond declared, causing Arwen's cheeks to turn scarlet. "Hopefully this conference will not run overly long. I expect to return before the next full moon. Namarie." [Farewell]  
  
  
  
The elves bowed respectfully. Then, Erestor stepped forward. "Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta, hir-nin," [May your ways be green and golden, my Lord] he said, before stepping closer to the horse. "You are beloved by your people, my old friend. Your return will not be a moment too soon."  
  
  
  
Elrond nodded, before leaning closer to whisper, "Whilst I am away, Arwen will need your advice. Unlike the twins, her experience of governing is scant. I am relying on you to make sure she is in control at all times."  
  
  
  
"Arwen is as dear to me as she is to you," Erestor replied. "I swear upon my honour to aid her in whatever way I can."  
  
  
  
"Diola lle, mellon amin," [Thank you, my friend] the elf-lord said, before turning to his escort. "Let us make haste!"  
  
  
  
Silence descended as Lord Elrond, followed closely by his bodyguards and Glorfindel, dug their heels into their horses' sides. At their masters' commands, the creatures burst into a gallop, the sound of their hooves slamming against the ground echoing into the afternoon.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
Aragorn's dark eyes scanned the area like a hawk seeking its prey, watching for even the tiniest, most insignificant movement. Although not blessed with the superior hearing of his Elven ancestors, fifty years as a Ranger had taught the man invaluable lessons about recognising every sound of the Wilds, from trickling water cascading over rocks to the scrapping metal of a blade being drawn.  
  
  
  
His companion shivered from the chill breeze that whistled through the forest. Unlike Aragorn, Bereg was unaccustomed to the harsh climate of the Misty Mountains. The young man was still in his period of training, and it would be a good few years before he was deemed capable of wandering the lands of Eriador alone. To Aragorn, every man and woman under his command was of immeasurable value and worth. The sun itself would turn emerald green before he sent any inexperienced man into danger unless they were more than adept at defending themselves.  
  
  
  
"Do you believe the rumours, Captain?" Bereg asked, his voice barely audible over the wind.  
  
  
  
"I don't know," Aragorn replied, his voice hoarse from the cold and his long-running silence. "But there *has* been an increase in orc activity around the Shire and through Eriador. I'm assuming that the centre of their activity is here." He stooped to the ground, brushing his battle-worn fingers over a dent in the earth. "Someone has passed through his area recently," he murmured. "This afternoon, at the earliest."  
  
  
  
His young companion watched the man with admiration. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Aragorn was the most skilled woodsman in all of Middle Earth. Even the wizard Gandalf the Grey was known to rely heavily on his talents and perception.   
  
  
  
Crawling along the earth, he bent closer to the ground, muttering to himself. Bereg followed close behind, eager to see for himself the true depths of Aragorn's skills. He held his breath as the pulled a partially buried object out of the soil. Cleaning away the dirt, he turned the stone in his hands. "Just as I thought," he turned to the young man. "An arrowhead, and by the crudeness of the point, I'd say this came from the quiver of an orc - although I do not recognise these markings."  
  
  
  
Bereg nodded, impressed by his Captain's skills. "I wish I could track like that," the young Ranger commented.  
  
  
  
As he stood, Aragorn offered his companion a rarely seen smile. "You will one day, Bereg. It just takes a few years practice."  
  
  
  
Suddenly, the Ranger stiffened, one calloused hand wrapped protectively around the hilt of his sword. Inhaling a sharp breath, he nodded to Bereg to do the same. "Something draws close - I can hear it."  
  
  
  
Not about to doubt his Captain's judgement, the young man obeyed, feeling trepidation creep into the pit of his stomach. A thousand unseen eyes bore into him, sinister figures lurking in the shadows. Overhead, the moon was ensnared in a thick mist of blackness, the starlight covered by fog. His breath trembled as shivers crept down his spine. The familiar, comforting sounds of the forest silenced themselves, replaced by an air of menace and foreboding.  
  
  
  
"How many?" He choked, feeling his resolve waver.  
  
  
  
"'Tis only a small party," Aragorn whispered. "No more than five or six. But they may be part of a larger group."   
  
  
  
Snarls filled the air as Aragorn ran forward, impaling the orc that dived towards the Ranger on his sword. Pulling the blade free, it crashed against the crude weapon of another of Sauron's foul minions, almost knocking the weapon from his grasp; but Aragorn held firm. With one careful slash, his opponent fell dead, body cleaved in two.  
  
  
  
Bereg swung his blade wildly in the darkness, wincing as it came into contact with flesh. He leapt back, as the creature fell dead at his feet, it's black blood seeping into the earth underfoot.  
  
  
  
"Watch out!" Aragorn cried, the last thing that Bereg heard before the blade of an orc pierced his chest. He was falling, crumpling slowly to the ground, searing pain ensnaring his heart, a shuddery breath drawn from rapidly blueing lips.  
The Ranger thrust his sword into the body of the last orc, then dived to the side of his fallen companion. Hands trembled as Aragorn ripped open the man's shirt, colour draining from his cheeks as the wound met his eyes. Blood poured like a river from Bereg's heart, as his hazel eyes clouded in pain, but with understanding.  
  
  
  
"My... younger brother wants to be a Ranger," the man choked, each word dripping with barely restrained agony. "Will... you... take care of him?"  
  
  
  
Aragorn nodded solemnly, gripping the man's hand, watching as his skin grew steadily more ashen. The hand fell limp from his grasp, as Bereg's soul returned to the Halls of his forefathers.  
  
  
  
Standing, Aragorn sighed bitterly. Such a waste of a young life... Bereg would never realise his true potential or purpose in this life. The man had left behind a brother - did he also leave behind a wife, or a lover? Eyes slipping shut for but a moment, he thought of his own beloved, safe in the valley of Imladris. He resolved that, the next time they were together, Aragorn would tell Arwen that he loved her, so that, if he were the next one to fall in his duty to the people of Middle Earth, at least she would never doubt his feelings for but a moment.  
  
  
  
Suddenly, the Ranger heard something - a twig snapping as heavy footsteps crushed it. Sprinting to the body of an orc, he pulled his blade from its chest, sword poised and ready for his attacker. His breathing grew shallow, his body stilled in preparation as a white-hot fury filled his veins, and he vowed silently to avenge his fallen companion, as he had with so many others.   
  
  
  
The forest was deathly silent - no owls hooted in the trees, no vermin chased their prey through the grass and earth. Even the whistling breeze faded to a chill, noiseless zephyr of icy air, chilling Aragorn to his very bones.  
  
  
  
The footsteps grew nearer, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, knuckles turning white as he held the blade slightly above his shoulder, ready to dive at the first orc who dared enter the clearing.   
  
  
  
Like a snake in the grass, a snarling beast leapt out from the thick shadows of the trees. Turning swiftly, Aragorn thrust his sword in the orc's direction, their blades meeting with a loud clang. Growling at his opponent, Sauron's minion withdrew it's sword, swinging the weapon over it's head and bringing it down on the man's arm.  
  
  
  
Aragorn winced in pain, blood pouring from the wound - but he would *not* allow this filthy creation of Morgorth to kill him. With merciless force, the Ranger plunged his blade into the orc's skull, slicing it's head clean open. The creature stumbled, a high-pitched squeal escaping it's lips and echoing into the night.  
  
  
  
Gasping for breath, Aragorn clapped a hand to the wound on his left arm, tracing the scar through the tear into his shirt. The injury was not severe, and he could tend to it later -  
  
  
  
The singing of an arrow caused the man to spin round sharply, stumbling as it struck him in the side. The world melted into blackness, as dizzy cries filled Aragorn's ears, before he lost all coherent thought, his body slamming against the turf with a moan.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
Elrond knew not what had awoken him. He could sense no danger in area, nor was the weather particularly harsh. In fact, within the confines of his private tent, surrounded by Elven guards, the elf lord felt safe. Yet, he was unable to still the disquiet in his heart. His closed his eyes, curling into a ball amongst his blankets. But while his body was weary from the day's journeying, his mind was alert.  
  
  
  
Rising, he parted the folds of material, peering into the darkness. Both Isil and Elen were obscured by a thick cloud, which could only mean one thing - approaching rain. He hoped that this would not affect their rate of travel.   
  
  
  
Glorfindel, who had been conversing with one of their guards, hurried towards his lord. "Mellon amin, is something amiss?" he asked worriedly.  
  
  
  
Elrond shook his head. "Nay, Glorfindel, all is well at the moment, although I am having trouble sleeping," he admitted. "Perhaps I shall take a walk. That might help."  
  
  
  
"Would you like me to accompany you?" The blond elf asked.  
  
  
  
Elrond shook his head. "I will be fine on my own. Besides, I will not go too far."  
  
  
  
Although he seemed uncertain about allowing his lord to wander the Misty Mountains alone in the middle of the night, Glorfindel also knew that his friend was more than capable of defending himself. After all, Elrond was once the herald of King Gil-Galad, and had fought at - and survived - the battle of the Last Alliance. And more importantly, the elf-lord had enough sense to know that, if he suspected that danger was approaching, to run back to camp or call for assistance. "All right then," he said, watching quietly as his friend strode away into the darkness.  
  
  
  
Humming softly to himself, Elrond wandered aimlessly through the trees, inhaling the musky scent of the forest around him. It felt strange to be away from Imladris. Since the beginning of the Third Age, the elf lord had seldom left his home, and even then, the visits were short and sporadic. He had grown so familiar to the sound of the Bruinen Falls lulling him to sleep each night, being awoken by pools of golden sunlight spilling into his bedchamber - where he had too often lain alone.  
  
  
  
Lifting his gaze to the sky, he sighed as thoughts of Celebrian filled his mind. No matter he much he tried, what memories he submerged himself in, the remembrance of their last meeting always seemed to overshadow any others. She had looked so pale, not the creamy complexion he loved so dearly, but a languid, sickly colour. Even the starlight in her eyes seemed to be fading. As much as it pained him, Elrond knew that the only place she could find true healing was in Valinor.  
  
  
  
A gentle laugh filled his ears, drawing the elf-lord from his thoughts. He spun around, frantically searching for the owner of that intoxicating giggle, like the sweetest music. But there was no one.  
  
  
  
"Elrond..."  
  
  
  
He sighed, those familiar intonations washing a wave of calm over him. It took the elf lord a few seconds to realise that Celebrian was *not* in Middle Earth any more. "Who is there?" Elrond called, dark eyes scanning the area like a hunter seeking out its prey.  
  
  
  
"Meleth-nin, [my love] it is I," the voice rang clearly, and he turned swiftly, mouth dropping open in amazement.  
  
  
  
Leaning against an oak tree, her silver hair glittering, sapphire eyes dancing with familiar mischief, was his wife. His Celebrian. Dressed in a flowing gown of the purest white silk, her skirts billowed in the soft evening breeze. When her lips curled into a teasing smile, Elrond felt his knees go weak.  
  
  
  
"This has to be a dream," he whispered, stepping closer to her.  
  
  
  
  
"There is nothing wrong with a good dream," she replied, her voice like the most beautiful melody ever to fall upon his ears. "And do not forget, meleth-nin, that dreams can often mirror reality."  
  
  
  
He was mere inches away from her, as a trembling reached out to see if this was but another painfully vivid mirage. His fingers almost touched her rosy cheek before....  
  
  
  
Something crashed into the back of Elrond's skull. Colours danced before his eyes, as Celebrian faded away. Fighting for breath, the elf lord staggered, landing unconscious on the ground.  
  
  
  
Two dark figures stood over the elf who lay sprawled on the grass, marvelling at their Master's handiwork. "Who knew that He could create such a realistic vision?" One of them commented, his voice harsh, like the sound a sword being sharpened.  
  
  
  
"Never you mind, my lad!" His companion answered. "Let's just get him out of here before those elves notice he's missing. The orcs'll take care of them."  
  
  
  
  
Together, they dragged the unconscious elf lord to their horses.  
  
  
  
  
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P.S. A big thank you for reading my story. If you would like to receive an email whenever I update or add a new fic, leave your address in a review or email me at princessevenstar0104@hotmail.com, telling me what story(s) you are interested in. 


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